Fighting Demons Repost
by Rethwallen
Summary: The thoughts of an anonymous Karsite soldier as he heads toward the battle at the end of Brightly Burning and as he lies dying on the battlefield. Rated for safety. Does not contain any major characters and is a repost from MoBi Ginger.
1. Chapter 1

Before I start, some of you might have noticed that this is partially a repost of a previously existing story. That was also written by me, but I can no longer access that account, so I've redone this under a different name. The first two chapters are almost exactly the same, and the third chapter is new. I hope you enjoy.

Fighting Demons

Chapter 1: A Just War

This is done through the eyes of an anonymous Karsite soldier, before and after the Firestorm at the end of 'Brightly Burning'. I'm just doing my portrayal of what I think a normal Karsite would think fighting a war he knows little about, but basing everything on faith and fear. This is my first attempt at writing, so any and all feedback is appreciated. I am rating this for safety, there will be character death in this story and I do not think a child should read such things, but there will be no gore and all violence will be implied and not explicit. Any reviews or criticism is welcome. If you all think it's any good, I'll write the part about after the battle.

Word count: 716

Sometimes, I wonder what we are fighting for, what we really want out of this war. I know it's wrong to doubt them, I know I should just accept that our cause is just, but still I find myself questioning, yearning for a truth I can never reach. They say that our enemy is evil, that their powers are evil, but I wonder, can someone truly be born evil? I've seen the Fires of Purification and though I know they are Vkandis' will, I still feel fear. Maybe the Son of the Sun decided that being feared is better than being among the Demon-lovers.

The Priest-Mages are the Voices of Vkandis and they shall lead us to glory, but still I fear them. They are protecting us from the Demon-Riders of Valdemar, but I do not feel safe. This is, perhaps an inappropriate time to be thinking such thoughts, marching towards a war against Valdemar. I am a member of Vkandis' Holy Army and I should not be thinking like a heretic. I know that I am not perfect, but I shall not follow in the footsteps of the Great Traitor, who abandoned Vkandis when he discovered his own witch-powers. We shall be facing him today, now that he too is a Demon-Rider.

I hope they know that we shall avenge this betrayal; indeed our Dark Servants have already unleashed their fury upon the Demon-lovers. For the past few days, they have been using their Holy power against the very people that Vkandis has condemned. I have heard tales of them; we lock the doors at night in case the fury of the Dark Servants is unleashed upon us. I hope we do not face the Demon-Rider who used his witch-powers to kill our Dark Servants. Would it be heresy to be relieved that I no longer must fear the night? We have been sleeping easier since then, though our fear of the Demon-Riders has increased.

I feel that I shouldn't be here, I am a mere farmer embroiled in a war I do not understand. I know what my father would say; he would say that I think too much. He thought that my incessant reading had rotted my mind for, as he would say, "What use would a farmer have for words?" However, I persisted and now I rue the day I did, for that, I am sure, is the root of my dissentious thoughts.

We're marching still, to a pass where we shall fight the Demon-lovers and with the blessing of Vkandis, we shall surely prevail. They're on the other side of this hill, I know; just a bit further and I can see what we will soon face. I'll satisfy my curiosity while marching towards possible death, a morbid thought, I know. I hope the gold-garbed men in front of me do not know my thought for though Vkandis may be forgiving, his servants are not. Ah, another thought that stinks of sacrilege.

I can see them now, the ones we'll be fighting soon. They don't look that different from a distance; just soldiers preparing for a battle, just men waiting for death. They don't seem evil, but they must be, after all they believe in the Demon-Horses, those they call Companions. I can see a Demon-Rider now, dressed in that unmistakable white. He doesn't seem to be that evil; he looks to be an ordinary man, but maybe I cannot tell, maybe I must be closer to see his evil.

Valdemar is a country headed by Demon-Riders, that is all I know. They are evil and they must be stopped. The Priests of Vkandis will lead us into vanquishing this great evil and I will be in the ranks of the just. The Demon-Horses must be evil and their riders equally so for how can a good person have such unnatural powers? I'm doing it again, questioning what I shouldn't, but I cannot seem to help it. I've been told countless times that I think too much, that I question when I should believe. I am a Karsite and proud to be, I know we will prevail because we must. Ironic, that this is my last thought before the pass, and it seems the entire world, erupts in flames.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I just wanted to thank those who reviewed and also respond to the comments. It's quite exciting to know that someone is actually reading my work as I usually tend to ferret it away in some god-forsaken corner and promptly forget about it. I was originally going to stop at two chapters, but as you'll soon see, I got carried away, so this'll be extended to three chapters.

**LightningStorms**: Actually, not everyone in the Karsite army died, there were some survivors, but not many. You're correct in that everyone in the Valley proper did die if they had not escaped by the time the inferno began.

**Loretta527 and SilentStream**: I probably should have mentioned this in the first chapter, but there are no direct references to any major characters in this work. I'm glad you caught the reference to the Great Traitor and yes, I did get my idea from Alberich, although I am not actually referring to him. If you read carefully, you'll see that I never mentioned that the Great Traitor had actually been in the army, merely that he was Gifted and had fled to Valdemar. I figured that although Alberich was the first Karsite officer to be chosen, he could not have possibly been the first Gifted Karsite to escape across the border. To find out more, you'll have to wait for chapter three. Have a good read!

Chapter 2: Fire Fight

Word count: 1,171

The wall of fire in front of us would have been awe-inspiring if we had not been trembling in fear. It appeared out of nowhere, stopping us in our tracks and reminding us of the fires that took our Dark Servants. It stood unwavering and strong, slowly eating away at the lush greenery. When the Priest-Mages approached it with their heretics in-tow, the fire burned even brighter, rising up and scorching the very air. I could almost feel the fear of the men around me, almost overshadowing my own. I didn't dare move, barricaded by men behind me and flames in front. I dimly heard the captain ordering a group of men up the slope and prayed they would survive the blaze. Then, it leapt out and chased them down the mountain, like a living beast chasing its prey.

The Priests were angry then, wanting to stop this Demon-Rider who dared to stop the Holy army. They were already infuriated by the way the witch-fire had been used to torch Vkandis' shrine. Some of the more fervent believers among the troops were also enraged, enough to goad the Priests on. Dimly, I realized that I should probably be angry as well, but I stood transfixed, like a moth caught by a deadly light. The Priests began setting up their Fires to purify the heretics and to call on their powers. I almost felt pity for the heretics as they cowered in fear, but then again they had brought their fates upon themselves. Just as I thought that, the Fires erupted and were absorbed into the wall of flames. It seemed angrier and burned brighter than ever, scorching the entire mountainside when the next party attempted to circumvent it. It seemed that instead of quenching the witch-fire, the attempts by the Priests had instead given it more fuel, making it burn hotter and faster. Perhaps it was not a good idea to fight fire with fire.

Then, as if our prayers had been answered by Vkandis himself, the flames disappeared, leaving a stretch of blacked land and the Valdemaran army on the other side. It took mere moments for the captains to order us onward and so we went to our glory; or so we thought, until the wall of flames erupted again, nearly taking out our leading men. It chilled my heart to see the witch-powers at work, creating such an unnatural beast. Then, another ray of hope, there was a gap on one side of the mountain, large enough to slip through. Perhaps the powers of the Demon-Rider were waning and he was merely stalling us. Again, a false hope, as the men fell to enemy arrows, caught between the mountain and a wall of flames. The next time a clear passage opened, none of us dared move.

Ahead, I could see the officers and the Priests trying to coax some men into trying another passage, but they knew it was a death-trap and refused to cross. It was almost amusing, to see such strong men bickering like children, although I was sure no child ever argued about who would be next to die. Perhaps, if they wanted us to make the crossing so badly, our officers should have gone by themselves. Ah, another heretical thought, this time on the battlefield. I really should have stopped thinking, but standing there facing the true power of the Demon-Riders, it was hard not to think, to doubt.

The Priests were angry again, they had finally coerced some men into making another suicidal crossing. I knew few would dare defy them, that they put up a fuss at all was stunning in and of itself. Again, an unyielding wall of flame, mocking the will of the Priests, stopped them. The next time another group went through, they were again shot down. It happened again and again and still we kept on going, slowly inching towards our deaths. Then, the witch-fire changed tactics and attacked a Priest, trying to wind around him, but he used Holy Vkandis' power to thwart it, eliciting a ragged cheer from the men. I was about to join in the rejoicing when the wall of flames bulged and enfulged him, leaving behind a charred-black corpse garbed in blue-gold flames. For the first time, the witch-fire had taken a life and none dared venture closer for some time.

Beyond the flames, I could hazily see more men moving into position, preparing to slaughter our Holy army. I found myself silently praying to Vkandis to stop the Priests from sending more of His men to their deaths, but it seemed that He was not listening for the next time a gap opened, more men push though, only to be shot down yet again. The next moments were a blur as I was pushed forward as more and more men made it through the wall of flames, only to be killed almost instantly. I saw even more Demon-lovers join the Valdemaran troops, this time riding horses and Demons. Then, the wall of fire flared again, blocking our view of the enemy troops.

The Demon-Rider changed tactics again, letting the flames go out, leaving us to stare in shock at the pikes of the Valdemaran foot-soldiers. Then, as if the Priests had suddenly come to life, they yelled in unison, their message drowned out by the pounding of running feet. We were moving too fast to stop now and I could only watch in terror as bursts of flames flared ahead of me, one nearly taking off my foot. I thanked Vkandis for my luck as another wall of flames flared up less than ten feet from me, killing everyone in its path. The flames died, marring the valley with a strip of charred carcasses. This time, even with the Priests yelling obscenities, we refused to move, knowing too well that stepping beyond the line of charred ground would only invite death.

I vaguely heard a trumpet call and then the Priests gave the order for small groups to move forward and I was yet again pushed slowly, but inexorably, towards my death. I could hear the cries of dying men as they were burned alive, the scent of charred meat and metallic blood sweeping over us. More than one man was retching around me, unable to stand the carnage, but I stood, numb and unfeeling, watching as my brothers-in-arms slowly died in agony. I barely noticed the sound of trumpets and the screams of the Valdemarans as they retreated, running from the carnage they had caused. It seemed like none of the other men noticed as they still ran pell-mell towards the withdrawing Valdemaran troops. I dimly thought that maybe we too should be running in the other direction for anything that caused such terror in the Demon-lovers must truly be a terrible thing. Then, my apathy and everything else faded into insignificance as a mental cry of aguish and grief ripped through every living being, shredding our minds with its inhuman terror.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi all. Please don't hate me for not finishing this for several years. This last chapter is not as good as the others, I'm afraid. I really couldn't find a great way to end it. I find the last part to be overly emotional, but I did want to emphasize the bond between siblings to some extent. I also took some liberties with what the effects of Lavan's death would be like for those actually caught within the fire storm. Again, for any of you still reading this, thank you for your infinite patience.

Chapter 3: The Great Traitor

I could feel my mind being ripped apart by some unseen, unstoppable force. My soul was one among many; I could feel the agony of every living being in the valley being pulled into one maelstrom, one chaos. The inhuman cry still rang, binding us together with its pain. Divisions of faith and politics faded from existence as we all became men going to our deaths.

For a moment, I thought that the agony would end, that we would merely be burned into oblivion. But life was much crueler than that, for death was coming through a Demon-lover, a sinner of the highest order. The physical agony disappeared as my body became numb to more pain, but it was replaced by an even worse pain as the worst memories of my life rose to the surface.

_"Brother, what are you doing?"_

_I was standing in the kitchen, watching my brother lighting the fireplace. We were forbidden from entering the kitchen alone, but we had escaped from our elder sister and Brother had decided to explore. He, at 10, was my six-year-old self's idol and I followed him like a Priest follows Vkandis, unquestioning. Turning around, he grinned briefly before turning back to his task._

_"Watch."_

_I stood transfixed as he closed his eyes and held his hands over the flames, seemingly not feeling the heat. Slowly, the flames died down until only the burning embers remained and then it flared, flooding the kitchen with eerie blue light. As my brother opened his eyes, the fire died down to nothing, leaving only ashes. He turned around, triumphant, waiting for my praise._

I could feel tears falling from my eyes and disappearing instantly in the heat. That was the day I had learned that my beloved Brother was Demon-touched. I knew I should have denounced him, but I did not. I kept his secret for years and despite the evil of his powers, I could not bring myself to regret protecting him. That was the first time I had directly defied the will of Vkandis. The first time I lied to a Priest of Vkandis was the day after my brother left.

_I was a nine, watching from my well-hidden roost in the stable loft as Brother stealthily crept away from home. We had grown apart, slowly, since that day in the kitchen although I had never even once considered betraying him. He could see the doubt and fear in my eyes and I know it hurt him dearly, but I could not bring myself to accept him._

_Now, over three years later, Brother was committing the ultimate betrayal, leaving home with a Demon-Horse. I had seen them over the past several days, meeting in secret. Brother had been talking to the Demon-Horse and it had seemed to understand him, as unnatural as that seemed. I'd known since the first time I saw them together that Brother would be leaving in the near future. I also knew that I was honor-bound to tell Father so he could tell the Priests. So I did._

Not that day, of course, because I was too grief-stricken to move from that loft. I had stayed there all night and well into the next day, praying my brother would see the error of his ways and would return Demon free. I knew even then that I prayed in vain, but I did not stop hoping until the Priests found me the next morning.

_The Priests had led me to the stable proper, where Father had been waiting. The stable hands and the horses were all absent, leaving the building eerily deserted. While I stood in numb silence, Father quietly explained to me that the Priests had sensed witch-powers coming from our farm and that Brother was nowhere to be found. He was being uncharacteristically gentle, as if he feared to be unduly harsh in the presence of the unsympathetic Priests._

_So, standing in that musty barn, I committed the ultimate betrayal to my faith and told them everything I knew, with a few hastily thrown in lies. I never told them I had seen Brother leave, never told them that if we had sent out riders that very morning, they would have been able to catch up with Brother, provided they had known what road he had taken. Unfortunately, I also conveniently forgot that particular little detail. Needless to say, Father had been furious and, I think only my youth and ignorance had saved me from the Fires. _

Since that day I have been waiting for the wrath of Vkandis to strike me down. It now seemed, as I lay burning alive in an inferno of a battlefield, that my day had come. I was dying, taken down by the very power Brother, the Great Traitor of my life, had possessed. Perhaps this was my comeuppance for although Brother had been labeled a traitor, I never fully renounced him. I had placed a boy destined to be a Demon-Rider ahead of Father and the Priests and even the Holy Vkandis and now I was paying dearly for that choice.

The pain was incredible, the physical pain of burning paling in comparison to the inner pain of my memories and chilling cry of chaos still swirling around us. I could feel the pain of every creature in this valley and I was being overwhelmed by it, becoming less human, less me, and become part of this great cry of grief that was a hurt worse than any burn. The longer the mental anguish lasted, the better I understood it and the more my sanity slipped away. This inferno around and within us was not one of hatred, but one of pain and a grief so overwhelming it literally stole the life from our veins. My greatest losses, my brother and my faith, were a grief that echoed that of this fire storm Demon-Rider.

Is it sacrilege to hope that my brother is safe beyond the walls of this valley, safe within the borders of Demon-touched Valdemar? I hope it is not, for it is one of my last thoughts as I feel my mind slipping away, being engulfed into the inferno above me. If this is to be my last moment, then I hope that you, my brother, are safe, I hope you are well, I hope you are among those who will love you for your kindness. I hope you know Brother, though I commit a great crime against Vkandis for it, that I have always loved you.


End file.
